


Line and Sinker

by intergalacticbooty



Series: Dark Fic [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anal Sex, Drug Use, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 18:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12538668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergalacticbooty/pseuds/intergalacticbooty
Summary: Timestamp in the 'Hooked' Universe.Drug addict Dean moves in with his dealer, Roman.





	Line and Sinker

Dean stands outside of the familiar house in the bitter autumn air, breath visible as he shimmies his legs and adjusts the worn bag on slung around single shoulder. He hesitates before knocking on the door slowly. 

‘You’re mine, you understand?’

He remembers vividly, despite being strung out, exhausted from a fight gone bad, right eye puffy, and adrenaline still pumping through his veins. 

His dealer’s voice, so strong and assured and…possessive. ‘ “No one fucking else’s, huh? You go nowhere without my permission again, you fight no one, you come to me for everything from now on, right?’

Dean also remembers his response, struggling to breath as Roman squeezed his throat, the sensation thrilling and terrifying all the same. 

‘ A-All yers, big dog…’

That was a week ago, a week Roman gave Dean to solve his shit, to say his goodbyes, and gather his things. In hindsight Dean probably didn’t need that much time. All his friends, dead. His family dead or hadn’t spoken to him in over a decade. His job didn’t actually require a three weeks notice. He also isn’t exactly rolling in the material goods. Fought like a dog for every meal, never really sleeping in the same place, and manages to keep himself clothed by stealing from local thrift stores. 

Roman opens the door before Dean can fall too strongly into his thoughts, dark eyes burrowing into Dean’s own glazed over blues. He’s pristine as ever, button down ironed to a crisp, fine line and goatee trimmed without a hair out of place.

Dean hasn’t bathed in a week and his jeans are worn at the thighs, the zipper held together by safety pins. His jacket has a hole in the armpit. 

The dealer looks over his head for a moment, as if searching for something before he focuses back in on Dean. “Where are your things? No moving truck?”

“Jus’ this, boss.” Dean motions to the bag, his voice shot and raspy, laced with a bit of sarcasm. 

Roman simply shakes his head in disbelief, motioning for Dean to join him inside.

-

It’s strange seeing Roman’s house so empty of conquests, but Dean feels a sense of accomplishment blooming in his chest. It’s because Roman doesn’t need them, the bodies dwindling lower and lower since he started to provide Roman with his talented mouth and sweet ass, down to none.

None except Dean.

“Dump the bag.” He motions to a table in the dining room, far too pristine for the contents of anything Dean owns.

He obeys, because Roman demands it. Nothing but ratty clothes, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a burnt spoon, a used needle, and a photograph of Dean and Sami from high school.

Roman grabs a trashcan, placing it in front of table. “Toss it.”

“What?” Dean’s voice a little too loud for the empty house, echoing through it’s numerous rooms. 

“I said toss it. All of it.” Roman’s voice is calm, dignified. It makes him bristle at those dark eyes. “I didn’t get you these clothes. Or this lighter, this spoon, this needle…” He sucks on his teeth. “…went to another dealer for cheaper shit recently, didn’t you? And reusing dirty shit?”

“’s old…” He rubs at his discolored right eye, feeling painfully guilty, kneading his collarbone. “…lost a buncha matches and I…I culdn’t pay yer prices, man, ‘m sorry…”

Roman simply shakes his head, before motioning for Dean to move, impatience clear on his face. The addict does, slowly, dumping out his old clothes, followed by the lighter, needle, spoon, and finally the cigarettes. 

He pauses, eyes getting wet at the photo of him and Sami. “P-Please dun’t make me…” Voice tight in his throat, blood rushing to his face as it turns red in emotion and desperation. He pleads with Roman, eyebrows knit together as snot starts to drip from his nose. It’s all so much, too much. All these years without Sami, without anyone…and Roman is promising him everything, it’s too much for him to process and it hurts to realize what his life has been up to this point, what it’s doomed to be.

His hands and arms tremble, slamming his eyes shut as he begins to breath heavily, incapable of holding back, and he begins to slap himself rapidly. 

Soon there is a warm body pressed against his back, Roman wrapping protectively around him, cradling his trembling arms away from harming himself and kissing at his temple, lips brushing aside his greasy and unwashed hair. “None of this hurting anymore…not while you’re mine.” He grabs roughly at Dean’s reddened jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze, rubbing the snot and tears out off his face with his bare hands.

No one has ever done that for Dean. Too disgusting, too pathetic…

“As long as you’re mine…you’ll have everything you could ever hope for. You want something to snort or smoke or shoot up and I’ll give it to you… you want clothes, you want games, you want a new phone…” Voice soft and cooing, lulling Dean’s droopy eyes to fall half-mast. “…you want someone to love and hold you… to fuck and pleasure you…I can give it all to you…” He pauses, Dean hanging onto every word like each is precious, soul saving scripture. “…but only if you promise to belong to me, forever. To do all I say and be mine fully and completely.”

“I promise.” Not a hint of hesitation. 

Roman smiles, something bright and rare and Dean’s heart speeds up in pride and passion and admiration. He made Roman smile like that. 

He wipes the remainder of the mess off his face with his own raggedy shirt, hands still shaking a little, but a small smile gracing his chapped, pink lips.“You can keep the photo of Sami…” Roman finally decides, taking it off the table and placing it on one of the exceptionally expensive, well made wooden bookshelves that adored the house. “…after all, he brought you to me, didn’t he?”

-

Not surprisingly Roman followed with Dean stripping off the clothing he wore then, including his underwear, and forced him to throw it out. 

Now he has the addict sitting on the pristine bathroom counter top, legs swinging idly as the massive bathtub is rapidly filled with water, Roman rolling up his sleeves. He inspects Dean, running his hands over and down his face, scratching at the edges of his ginger beard, fingers running down to his furry chest.

“I own such a pretty boy, don’t I?” He speaks as if he isn’t speaking of Dean, voice in awe and amazement, over and down his chest, resting there.

Dean stares up at him in confusion. “Pretty fucked up, eh?” He tries to joke, but Roman is deadly serious as he shakes his head. “C’mon, man…dun’t be sayin’ shit…l-like that, I ain’t…”

“I said you are, so you are.” There’s no room for argument there as Roman continues his expedition, Dean’s breath picking up as he caresses his nipples, down to his slender waist, touching scars new and old like they’re priceless gems, before hovering over his thighs. “You’re filthy…in the tub, now…”

Dean obliges, the warm water a strange blessing on his ragged body, almost melting into it. Roman begins to scrub his body, the skin becoming pink and raw, patches of grim dirtying the water, dried blood from his scalp turning part of the water pink.

He’s never felt so refreshed…nor as vulnerable as Roman helps him out of the tub, drying down him down with the softest towels imaginable. “All clean, now, baby, huh?”

He nods, shaking beyond his control as Roman smiles again, Dean’s own lips upturning as Roman’s smiles are hastily becoming an addicting substance in of themselves. 

As good as it is to be so clean and fresh, he’s needy…that itch deep inside settling for something in his veins and he paws at Roman’s sleeve, mind searching for the words to ask. He’s only ever fallen to his knees, only ever shoving crumpled bills into Roman’s hands. “I, Roman, I-I need…”

“I know.” He brushes back Dean’s damp hair, soft and slow with careful hands, before tugging on the ends up it, yanking Dean’s head back and sucking a new, fresh mark into his freshly cleaned neck. “I know.”

-

Dean’s on his back. He’s never on his back. He’s always on all fours or on his knees, taking Roman’s length roughly in his hole or down his throat. But he’s on his back, eyes wide and head lulling as the injection thrums through his body.

Roman smiles down at him, spreading Dean’s bruised and needle-hole riddled legs, hands gentle as they caress his flesh. “That’s good, baby, isn’t it?” His head is too heavy to lift to nod, but he manages to gargle out a word that resembles ‘yes’, which Roman chuckles at. 

He registers the gentle stretching of hole with lube, a finger, and then he registers Roman inside him and on him, the man’s form having a strange, hazy glow around him. Dean takes him all, moaning out, the pleasure of his high and Roman’s cock overwhelming, tears beginning to fall.

“Mine…” Roman kisses into his lips, stretching him wide and perfect as Dean’s eyes cross, as his thighs tremble and he pleads and praises. “…my love, my Dean…”

“l…l-love…” Dean garbles, spilling his release all over himself, hands quickly flailing and his body shivering. 

It’s the best orgasm of his life to date, the dual pleasure vibrating within his flesh as Roman finishes inside him, claiming him and kissing him swollen, his drug-hazed mind causing him to pass out not long after.

-

Dean has new clothes, ones that are littered with holes because they’re fashionable. He smells good because he bathes everyday. His bruises heal and no new ones form without his consent, because he’s only marked when Roman wants to mark him. He can walk into the kitchen and open the fridge and eat because not every meal is paid with pennies and nickles found in his torn up jacket. Dean’s head sinks into Roman’s lap, his newest high taking over his senses, Roman lacing their fingers together.

Dean lays on that familiar couch, mind a haze and heart soaring, because he is Roman’s and no one else is.


End file.
